


Compromise

by DarkShadeless



Series: Overseer Sar [12]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: AKA, Sar's relationship with advanced conflict resolution measures, dancing with the devil, how to convince your Sith to cooperate with you, without dying in the process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 21:25:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14839445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Overseer Sar and Master Timmns come to an agreement. Of a sort.





	Compromise

 

 

Sar opens the door, takes one look at the setting that awaits him on the other side and realizes he’s walked into a damned hold-up.

His hands twitch toward his lightsabers.

On the other end of the table that is the centrepiece of the chipper conference room Timmns seems amused by that.

That bastard.

This is his doing. Sar _knows_ it. They weren’t supposed to have another review for at least a week. He’s sure. He tracks those things like a Selkath would firaxan sharks.

But here he is, with the _pastel colors_ and the _meeting notepads_ set out for three.

And with the _Bimm_.

Master Za’uir is making himself at home at the left-hand side, radiating peace.

The Sith has to tame the impulse of trapped predators everywhere to claw his way out of this predicament. It won’t work. It never does.

_I swear by the kriffing Force if anyone uses the words ‘this is an intervention’ I will- I will-_

… he’s not sure what he will do. It will be unpleasant, though. Possibly for everyone involved but at least he’ll take the Jedi down with him.

_By the Force, I’m starting to sound like **him**. This is it. When I get out of here I have a date with a game of Sabbacc in the backroom of the halls of contemplation and I’m not leaving until I’ve lost all my cash or someone draws a ‘saber._

It is high time Sar starts to counteract this incessant exposure, even if that is the best he can do in cutthroat enmity.

He thought he could withstand this gaborsh but obviously he had been wrong. Terribly, horribly _wrong_.

“Overseer! How good of you to join us.”

It is amazing how Za’uir manages to sound as if he has a choice in the matter.

Well, technically speaking, he does. If Sar wants to risk being a _disappointment_ to the person writing his performance reviews. There is just one thing at the end of that path and it starts with the question ‘ _Why don’t we talk about what troubles you_?’

So he’s going to be a good peon. He will sit down, he will pull up his notepad and he will say, _through gritted teeth_ , “Sure. Anytime.”

Sar deserves a medal for his unrelenting service to the Empire and the greater good of the galaxy. He really does. The horrors they make him go through, here… and that _miserable traitor._

He had thought they were united in _one thing_ at least. Sar will make him regret the day he sold out his co-worker to an extra helping of enforced harmony.

“Very well, now that we’re all here, let us begin.” Za’uir curls his furry little legs under him, as if he’s settling in for the long run, _and by all the gods, why, what did he ever do_ , “We’re here today because Master Timmns asked for a mediator.”

_I knew it. You turncoat. You will find out how a Sith handles that kind of shavit, I swear-_

“I confess he hasn’t told me what he wishes to discuss but assures me that while important, it’s not grounded in conflict. So unless called for I will be an observer, of sorts. Pretend I'm not here!” The Bimm cocks his head. “Master Timmns, the floor is yours.”

“Thank you, Master Za.”

‘Master Za’ is it? Sar is starting to have the uncomfortable feeling he’s been had. They’ve been lulling him into a false sense of security while they were working together _all along_.

Jedi. You can’t turn your back on them for even a second.

“I’m sure you’re curious why I’ve asked you here today.”

And in the span of a sentence _something isn't right_. The momentum of irritation Sar had been building slows to a crawl. 

 

 

 

Timmns watches his co-instructors suspicion sharpen, from that low level grumble he always carries with him to a cutting edge, and knows he has already blundered.

 _Too soft? Too careful?_ Who can tell what might bring a Sith’s hackles up. They’ve spent a lot of time alongside, if not quite together, and still he can’t make sense of the man some days.

No matter. No way but forward.

 _And that’s the crux isn’t it?_ If he’s completely honest with himself, he has asked Master Za’uir here because he might actually _need_ him and not to police Sar’s manners. _Let's hope it doesn't come to that._

“I’ll get to the point, I know you appreciate that.” Brevity might be the only thing his co-worker will appreciate in short order. Almost despite himself Timmns falls back to habits less learned than worn into him as water on stone. “We have shared our duties for some time now and it has come to my attention that you’re… struggling in some aspects.” He swallows the pride he shouldn’t have so much of before he can get his head bitten off and continues. “But I’ve found so am I.”

_Negatives with positives. Acknowledge your own faults._

Timmns continues, haltingly, “You see things I don’t and your students… advance quickly.” _Because you all but literally put a knife to their throats._

There’s a voice at the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like the Bimm sitting on the sidelines, proud as any parent. _Undirected criticism is not conductive to change. Communication is key!_

“But your methods are… often harsh and I think you find yourself at a loss when your pupils require… _support_ you’re unused to giving. Or when they cease responding to,” and there was really no way to put this diplomatically, “threats.”

Za’uir winces. The Sith, in contrast seems largely unfazed. A little insulted, perhaps, but in the way of someone chewing on unpleasant truths.

That’s- Timmns will take it. _Here goes.  
_

“Now, I’ve been thinking.” That’s putting it mildly. His mediation sessions of late were some of the hardest he has had in his life. Not least for the wisdom he has taken away from them. “And I’ve come to the conclusion that we could help each other out.”

There’s still a holdout of inner resistance to the very idea a Sith’s methods could teach him anything that Timmns sees reflected in the mild surprise in the slant of Master Za's ears. The Master might have pushed him toward viewing his colleague and his actions from all angles but he’s certainly taking it a step further.

Sar’s mustering him as if he has started spouting Happy Hutt commercials. “Are you saying- What exactly are you saying?”

“I’d like to attempt to enhance our working relationship. Say, the acolytes that fall behind. You’ve detailed your troubles there,” and Timmns is not thinking about all the implications of them, they don’t bear repeating, “but do you think I’d face the same? If I were to tutor them instead of you?”

He can see the exact moment Sar translates that into his own understanding of the galaxy. This is what he has dreaded and Timmns can’t even begrudge him the reaction. Not when he has no more illusions about where it comes from.

Though the Jedi has to admit, after all the time he has spent butting heads with the overseer he had thought he knew what that reaction would _look like_.

He did and he didn’t.

From one second to the next Sar’s temper reaches its boiling point and it's like nothing Timmns expected.

All animation melts out of his face.

“You want me to give you access to my _students._ ” It's the mildest the Jedi has ever heard him speak. That means little to anyone who can  _sense_ him.

A wealth of emotion is hidden under the words, a stream of lava under ice. It bleeds into Sar's presence, hissing and cracking. Flame licks through the fissures in flashes of projected feeling. _My vulnerable, ignorant, malleable students, have you realized your error yet? Because **I will kill you**_. _This is the **last mistake you’ll make**._

Timmns weathers a bolt of instinctive primal terror. _Alright. You knew this would happen. Something like this. Dear Force, he can push if he wants to, can’t he?_

“In essence but not as such.” The Sith mouth pulls into a snarl, Darkness roaring in defiant answer, and Timmns has to batten down his shields.

Between them Master Za’s fur stands on end but the Bimm doesn't interfere. Yet. He's waiting to see how Somminick will handle the beast he has provoked by threatening its cubs.

The comparison is unfortunately apt.

It’s entirely reflex to put his hands up in a bid for peace. “All I’m proposing is that we work together. That you let me _help you_ ,” Sar curls his hands around the edge of the table and Somminick swears he can feel the ghost of pressure on his throat. _Oh dear. Best make it quick._ “where I can! And do what you do best. I’ll-“

And here goes the one thing he can think of that might pull the Sith up short enough not to _eat him alive_ , stars and void.

Here’s to hoping his learners won’t take example from their fellows and murder him before the week is out for throwing them under the bus.

“Give you a shot at the padawans!”

The quarry Sar has been stalking since he first set foot in their shared classroom crosses his path, redirects his predacious instincts and brings the storm of unleashed _intent_ that’s battering Timmns with (possibly undirected, _by all the little gods_ ) psychic backlash to an abrupt halt.

It’s a little like watching an acklay come to a stop mid run, torn between two promising meals, and _he is one of those_.

Somminick pushes on before Sar can decide to be safe rather than not-all-that-sorry. Or take that offer without limitations.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’ll have to tone it down. And you’ll have to listen to me.” Merciful Light, he can’t even tell if that displeased growl is a sound or an impression. "And I’ll listen to you! It won’t be easy for either of us to define boundaries, I imagine, but I'm sure we can _try_.”

Breathless silence. Not literally on his part, thank the Force.

Sar seems to give his suggestion some consideration. Or the taste of his blood. It's hard to tell.

Slowly, his presence folds away, from past broiling to a simmer. How smoothly it goes is almost more ominous than the explosion the Jedi Master had courted half-knowingly.

“You want to do the mushy stuff and let me do the pushing. Space-carrot and stick?”

“That’s…” Trust the Sith to find a way to make cooperation sound like a scheme. Timmns considers the alternatives. “One way to put it.”

The man hesitates and if Somminick isn't missing the mark, he's tethering between ‘no fucking way in all hells to ever exist’ and a pained ‘ _maybe that fool Jedi isn’t completely wrong_ ’. The second, as he had gambled upon, slinking into the mix from the part of the overseer that really does want what is best for his pupils (most of him, actually) and is prepared to consider that might not be encompassed by a beating (a tiny, little spot).

It’s somewhat of a testament to Sar’s commitment as a teacher which side of the equation he comes down on.

“ _Fine_. But it ends when I say so and if I catch you _subverting_ a single one of them-”

“You won’t.”

“I’d _better_ not.”

 

 


End file.
